I shiver as I make my way back to the little dark room , my new apartment .
Henry must still be in our old apartment , warm under the glaring fluorescent lights . I wonder if he ’ s shed tears , or if he ’ s drinking . I wonder if he went out with his friends . His friends . He must have friends , but none of their names or faces come to mind .
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And then I realize I cannot remember Henry ’ s face . I cannot remember the shape of his nose . I cannot recall the color of his eyes . His face in my mind is like melted wax .
I try to recall a face , any face . I see the dark hair and rosy cheeks of the young man .
Henry . Remember Henry .
I take out my phone , wondering if there ’ s a picture I forgot to delete . At least I can look at his social media . But my phone is still dead . I look around for an outlet . Yet there are none , just faded red wallpaper , like the stuff from the lobby but shabbier , peeling in places .
I get dressed , tying back my damp , soapy hair . Hunger claws at my stomach . When did I last eat ?
I dig into my suitcase and unwrap one of the granola bars , then draw back . Decay spills out of the inside of the wrapper onto the dirty carpet .
I riffle in my suitcase for the bag of apples . They smell overly sweet . As I lift the bag , the apples crumble into rotting pieces .
I cough into my hand . The room is caked in dust .